Shooting Star
by Michelle Rine
Summary: It's an OC story (NOT Mary Sue, I litmus-ed). She joins in at the fifth year of the regular chars. It was mainly inspired by the prominent lack of a sensible person telling all the gits in the books off. So I made one. Review please, this is my first fic
1. Prologue

Title: Shooting star. 

Author name: Michelle Rine.

Author E-Mail: andora@inter.net.il

Rating: Currently PG-13, just to be on the safe side.

Spoilers: Every Harry Potter book to date (1-4).

Disclaimer: All characters, which are not originally my own, and all the situations this story is based upon are the property of J.K. Rolling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. and whoever else now has the rights to them.

I'm not earning anything on this except my own joy at starting something new, and I try to keep as close to canon as I can.

Prologue 

It was the first day of the summer vacation, or to be exact, the first morning of said day.

Minerva McGonagall looked up from her breakfast of porridge and toast as she heard the owl door in the roof of the attic floor open and shut, admitting her tawny companion into the house. She carefully moved the morning copy of The Daily Prophet, folding it neatly to save space to allow room for the bird to land on the kitchen table as it flew down the staircase to the ground floor. The owl settled down on the table and shook itself up in a primped fashion, a group of letters tied up by a string clutched in its beak.

"Well now, what have we here today, Rowen?" she said as she wiped her hands on a napkin. She placed the napkin in a waste bin positioned under the table and took the letters from the bird, offering it an owl treat from a small wooden box in the middle of the table, next to the salt and pepper shakers and the napkins holder.

The bird flew back up the stairs to the attic; Minerva never doubting its destination was anything but its cage up near the attic window. She looked at each letter on both sides, placing most of them in a neat pile in the clear space on the table where Rowen had been, and opened the rest, save one, with a simple spell, using her wand – which was always in a holster on her left forearm. She read through them quickly, always sneaking small glances at the last letter, resting in her lap; the bright green ink in a familiar hand drawing her attention almost unbearably.

At last, she had finished and she placed the open letters in the pile already on the table and looked at the last letter. It was from Proffesor Albus Dumbledore, judging by the hand and style, but it did not have the school emblem on the front of the envelope. It wasn't a school matter then, which only meant it was far more important.

Minerva opened it and read through it with unwavering scrutiny, absorbing each word as if it meant her life. But when she had finished a small frown appeared on her face.

The letter read as follows:

**_Dear Minerva,_**

It has come to my immediate attention that one Erulan O'Corbin, a girl of fourteen, has been found at last in the Muggle world. As you know, her disappearance some years ago in questionable circumstances, and her parents' death shortly thereafter, has been one of my greatest worries these last three years. She is alone, Minerva, and untrained. We must fetch her at once and bring her safe and sound back to her family, and to Hogwarts. 

_I am also afraid the Ministry has called a closed debate, dealing with the current grievous affairs, for important members of the Wizarding governments in the United Kingdome, and I must attend it as of today. Once there I cannot be contacted, nor can I contact anyone else but those who will participate in the debate. So I must leave the matter of returning this child to us in your capable hands. I feel I can only trust you in this matter, especially in these dire times. **His **return is near, and I believe we will need the strength of numbers to aid us this time._

_All that is known of the girl's location is disclosed herein._

_Please Minerva, find her, and help her with all she will need to integrate her into the upcoming fifth years' classes. I cannot fully explain to you the importance of this matter, but I am sure you will understand._

**_With Care,_**

**_Albus Dumbledore._**

Only once before has Dumbledore sent her a letter such as this, fourteen years ago, the day Voldermort fell from power and the infant Harry Potter was to be transferred to the care of his Muggle Aunt and Uncle. But this new letter hardly held the same significance to her as the one before. 

Her frown only deepened as she considered the matter further.

Firstly, she wondered why Albus would put so much weight of importance on this one young girl, though the name rang a bell in her mind, it did not ring as anything of any importance at all other than the intermittent interest the Headmaster had expressed in it over the past three years – something which hardly qualified as a "great worry". 

Secondly, the information about the girl, written on another piece of parchment, was scarce and hardly offered any concrete clues as to the girl's whereabouts, or her current status, at that. Minerva didn't really know where to begin looking for her.

Thirdly, Albus had said that the girl was untrained, but he had also asked her to make sure she would be able to catch up to a fifth year student's level; something which seemed near to impossible, even if she had had a year to do it in, and not just two months as she currently had – not counting the time it would take to actually find the girl. 

It all seemed very strange. 

However, life as a Hogwarts teacher never really was ordinary, and neither was being a close friend of one of the most powerful wizards on the continent. She had unwavering trust in said friend, and so, despite her worries she placed both parchments back in the envelope and placed it on the top of the pile, finished her breakfast, and started planning for a way to find one magical girl, in a proverbial Muggle haystack.


	2. 01

Chapter 1: One Summer Day.  
  
Ellen felt awful as she woke in the morning of the 4th of July. She had had such a wonderful dream that night; it was filled with all her favorite things - chocolate, warmth and safety. It was somewhat of a recurring dream for her, and it was undoubtedly her best dream. Sometimes, she imagined she could remember figures in the dream, but those always faded away after a few minutes of wakefulness. But today the dream only made her feel worse than she would have felt without it, seeing as she woke up with a start to find the housemaid shaking her violently, muttering, "Get up! You lazy good-fer-nothin' gel!"  
  
"I'm up! I'm up!"  
  
A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her that it was too early even for farmers to be up and about, and she groaned at the unfairness of it all as she shuffled out of bed under the watchful scrutiny of the maid. The housemaid was a dark haired woman, in her mid thirties (and none to happy about it). She wasn't a bad woman in Ellen's book, but very, very strict. She wasn't really even a maid, but more of a babysitter, since she only did the cooking and made Ellen do all the cleaning - under the premise that 'It would teach the young gel to take care 'o herself'. She did, however, have her cruel moments, like this morning. Ellen wiped away the sleep webs from her eyes and focused on changing into her 'work clothes', which consisted of a tattered green overall, a shirt that had once been white (you could still tell, but only if you were color blind) and grubby, old sports shoes. Ellen chose this outfit because she could guess what was coming next, and a quick glance at the now slightly pleased maid proved that she was right,  
  
"Now then, go do your toilette an' all, and then come downstairs and help me clean the mess you've made yesterday, it wouldn't do for your parents to come back and see the house like this."  
  
With that she turned around and walked out of Ellen's bedroom, adding on her way out, for no particular reason, "No 'buts' missy! You play you pay!"  
  
Ellen knew her parents, her adoptive parents that is, were coming home from their business trip today, but that didn't help her in the least, and last night she was just so angry! She sighed inwardly as she turned down her bed; it was no use grumbling about it now. 'What was done, was done' she thought, then she added to herself 'And besides, it was fun at the time', a small grin forming on her lips. She stuffed her pajamas in her closet, had a quick look around her room to make sure everything was in order, and stepped out of the door as well. Her room was on the second floor, her parents' on the third. Downstairs were the kitchen and the living room, and some other room Ellen wasn't allowed into, but she guessed it was a home-office of sorts. There was also an attic, but Ellen wasn't allowed up there either. There was supposedly a bathroom in every floor, but only the ones on the second and third floors had the fool array of a shower, a tub and a walk-in closet for towels and bathrobes. Ellen walked into the bathroom on her floor, and looked at the large mirror over the sink. A thin girl of average height, dull green eyes, and ash blond hair in a ponytail looked back. 'I ought to do something about my hair' she thought as she tried to pull it out of her ponytail and comb it into a semblance of order. She then washed her face, brushed her teeth and did whatever else was necessary to make herself presentable. Going down the stairs to the living room, she inspected the damages. 'It really isn't so bad', she said to herself, hoping it would be true, but knowing it won't. The living room seemed to have been ground zero for some enormous pillow war some time in the recent past; there were feathers everywhere, and torn pillowcases, and a great deal of small statues and other such living-room ornaments were lying about on the floor (luckily, later inspection showed that only one or two of them were actually broken and needed gluing together). 'What a way to start the Summer Holyday.' She thought sullenly. It was going to be a very long morning indeed.  
  
Minerva McGonagall looked up at the street sign and then back down at the piece of paper she was holding. She was dressed in a discreet black cardigan sweater, and a long mauve skirt, seeming almost right in the Muggle world - if it wasn't for the pinkish hat with the fruits on and the white high heeled shoes, that is. 'This looks right about right.' she thought as she looked around her at the shabby street, wrinkling her nose at the mounds of waste, piled in a haphazard way all over the sidewalk and a good part of the road. 'More of an alley, really' she criticized in her head. She walked down the street - the alley, that is - searching among the buildings on either side of her. After a short distance she stopped, right in front of an old charity hospital, which was in desperate need of repair (much like the rest of the houses there). The plaster was flaking off on the outside, and the front door creaked horribly as she opened it, Minerva noted to herself, and the inside wasn't any better. At least one thing was in alignment with McGonagall's standards, the service. As soon as she entered, she saw a motherly, plump woman sitting behind a counter-like desk, typing something into. something. 'What was it called? A comic puter?' a small frown appeared on McGonagall's face as she thought this, something which was immediately noticed by said typing woman, who smiled warmly at the professor and asked kindly,  
  
"Is there anything I can do for you, Miss?"  
  
Minerva was pleasantly surprised by the warmth, which seemed to exude off the woman in friendly waves, and felt herself responding at once with manners only years of experience and proper schooling could produce.  
  
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact" she said amiably, "I was wondering if you might remember a girl who was here some three or four years ago"  
  
Minerva started shuffling her notes, looking for the page with the description of the girl written on it - it was all on Muggle paper, and felt very unfamiliar in Minerva's hands, but she decided this way was probably best, seeing as walking around with a handful of parchments wasn't considered normal in the Muggle world, at least Minerva hoped it wasn't.  
  
"Well, you just tell me how she looks like and the likes, and we'll see what we can do" the woman said, the warm smile still on her face, and, Minerva noticed, it wasn't fake, she also noticed that the woman had not said what her name was yet, nor has she asked for McGonagall's. 'What she doesn't know, she doesn't tell. Very sensible' she thought with a growing sense of appreciation.  
  
Finally, Minerva found what she was looking for and started reading out the description, "Eleven or twelve years old, female, Caucasian, cropped light hair, her name was Erulan, strange things might have happened around her."  
  
"Hmm. I remember a girl that matches your description, she came here very frightened; it was funny though. See, she couldn't tell us why she was frightened, or much of anything else (which could definitely be called a 'strange thing'), but her name wasn't Erulan, so maybe it's not who you're- "  
  
"No, no, please, she would be frightened, and the amnesia symptoms fits what I know of her as she was at that time" McGonagall said, figuring by the information she was given on the girl, that she was probably under the effect of some sort of memory spell. Minerva felt unusually excited, Dumbldore had sent her the letter only two days ago, and already she was making progress. She hadn't felt like this since the days she was still working as an operative for the Ministry.  
  
"If you're sure I'll pull out her file from our records here, it will only take a moment. You're welcome to sit down" The woman's words cut Minerva's line of nostalgic thought, and she muttered something resembling assent and looked at the direction the woman's hand was waving - to where three iron chairs were connected to form a bench. It seemed clean enough, so she walked over and sat down in one, the metal was cold, but other than that it was surprisingly comfortable. The motherly woman had, in the mean time, bent down beneath the counter, so she was out of sight, but every now and then Minerva could hear her sighing with the effort of shifting piles of records around, or muttering things like "no. no. um, maybe next pile." McGonagall settled in her seat, pulled out an old Muggle pen (which was enchanted, so it's ink never ran out) and started reading through the papers again.  
  
She had a clipping of an article from the Daily Prophet's evening edition from the summer of four years ago, sent to her by Dumbledore. She cut the picture out, and magically photocopied it all onto Muggle paper so she could walk around with it in the Muggle world, but the rest of the article was whole. McGonagall had underscored the important bits in it.  
  
Out of The Reign of Terror, or In? By Lorinzia Murk  
  
Tonight, one of the wizarding world's most prominent and old families had suffered a vile attack such as was not seen since the days of He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named. The O'Corbins, both parents being honored workers in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Evil Eradication, and their daughter, due to start Hogwarts this very September, were caught off their guard tonight as the attackers (whose identity had not et been revealed to the press) cast a field of anti-magic around their house in the Muggle New-York suburbs - making all casting of any other spells in the house impossible. There was evidently, a physical struggle, and the body of one of the attackers was found lying next to the two of the O'Corbin couple. Their daughter was nowhere to be seen, and search parties have been sent out after her, in hoped that she is still alive. The Ministry has issued a request for anyone who might know the whereabouts of the O'Corbin girl to notify them at once, the same goes for all those who might know anything about the attackers. As a citizen of the wizarding world, I do not feel safe, and it leads me to wonder why the Ministry sees itself as the savior of the wizarding world form the clutches of Evil, when Evil is still being done - and at the cost of two, and maybe three extinguished members of the community. As one Muggle once said, 'With friends like these, who need enemies?'  
  
There were comments on the margins, mostly hypotheses as to what could create an anti-magic field, and a reminder to investigate the reports of the search parties at the Ministry (all written in McGonagall's neat and flowing hand writing). She also had the address of the O'Corbin's house, on a different pape, and it was very near here, and thinking like an operative - meaning, thinking like a girl of eleven would think, she reached the conclusion that in all the mayhem that must have followed the attack, little Erulan probably didn't know who to trust, and thus ran away from everyone who was trying to find her, including the search parties. The girl also probably felt alone, and scared, and would have wanted nothing but to see a nice, unquestioning face. Having already checked all hospices and charity places, which might have taken a little girl in, in the area except this one, this place seemed to be the best candidate of all to be where Erulan stayed in hiding while the search parties lurked about in the streets. 'Now, if only that woman would hurry it up.' McGonagall unconsciously shifted so that she was sitting at the edge of her seat now, anxious anticipation expressed by her stiff movements as she shuffled through her papers over and over again.  
  
Having cleaned and shined the living room all morning, Ellen was very unexcited to meet her parents. She had to get all dressed up, and wait by the door and be nice. And when they finally came (an hour late), full of smiles and quite a lot of presents, she could tell they were really just tired, and not as happy to be home as they should have been. Besides, each of the three had something else they would rather be doing at that moment. For Ellen's father, Daniel, that thing would be catching up on his work. For her mother, Helen, it would be a hot bath and a lie down. And for Ellen, it would be the market.  
  
If there was one good thing that came out of the whole maid-making-her-do- all-the-work arrangement, it was doing the shopping. As long as she got what was on the list, no one cared where she got it from, and the market was the single most interesting bit of this part of the city. It was like the big market in China-Town, with stalls, and people advertising their goods at the top of their lungs, with strange things coming up from all sorts of places and even stranger people. It was Ellen's favorite hang-out, so as soon as all the 'welcome home' and 'glad to be here, dear's were over, she rushed up to her room, changed into her normal clothes (jeans, a green vest-shirt and a barrette hat), practically ran downstairs and out the front door. She took her bicycle from the garage, and rode at breakneck speed down the street. The area the market was in wasn't the most glamorous part of the city, and, to be frank, no parents would allow their children to wander about in it. However, Ellen's parents were on a 'need to know' basis as far as she was concerned, and what they didn't know, couldn't hurt her.  
  
It was already midday and blistering hot when she arrived at the market itself. A procession was going by, celebrating the National day of Independence, and there were too many people on the street, so Ellen turned to a system of side streets she's learned to know as well as the back of her hand. Her destination was a small park situated about half way through the market area; it was a quiet place amid the hubbub of the market, and only a select few stall-owners offered their wares along the road crossing it.  
  
As she ducked through alleys and side streets, Ellen thought about what she had done the night before. She had tried to construct a small shrine to Selene, goddess of the moon, whom Ellen started worshipping recently, having heard of her in the market, naturally. But she couldn't quite get it right - like the drawing in the book she had bought in the market, titled 'Goddess of the Moon, A Pagan Worshipper's guide'. She figured that if she got it right, the goddess would grant her a boon of some sort. Maybe something relating to a certain boy she met in the park, and maybe not. She's been trying and trying for over an hour, when the maid started complaining about the smell of the incest, and ordering Ellen to clean up her mess at once. Ellen prided herself with being able to keep a short leash on her temper, but she couldn't hold on to it much longer, as the maid's nasal droning voice kept getting more and more insistent. The result was astounding. Amidst the flying pillows and various objects, and the screams of ancient prayers to Selene, and the general screams of the maid, Ellen felt power. She's always had weird things happening around her, especially when she was angry or sad, so it was only logical for her to assume that, whoever were her true parents, they probably dealt in witchcraft of some sort, and bequeathed the ability onto her. It was only a matter of finding her way to the right God or Goddess who will guide her in channeling her innate ability to the true powers of a proper witch. It all made absolute sense. Or at least it made more sense than the theory she had had last year, about being the descendant of Angels, or the year before that, of being a mutant like the X-Men.  
  
All of this, along with a few scattered thoughts of said boy maybe waiting in the park for her to get there, ran through her mind as her hands directed her bicycle in the well known rout, and hardly any time passed at all before she was already in the park. Her mind elsewhere, she zoomed through the main road, straight into an elderly woman crossing it, knocking the latter to the ground.  
  
Minerva had a real chance now. The woman in the hospice had given her a file with a name, and the telephone number of a couple who took the child in. A few quick phone calls that very day gave her an address, and it all came down now to see if she was right. It was too late to try it that very same day so she had apparated back to her house to take a shower, double-check her findings and get some rest for today.  
  
McGonagall was standing now in front of the front door of the house she was pointed to. She already rang the doorbell, and was waiting patiently for the door to open. It took a while, with her holding her breath without noticing it and then releasing it quickly with mentally reminders to 'be calm'. When the door was finally opened, a middle-aged woman in a bathrobe standing on the threshold, the excited feeling grew tenfold. "Yes?" the woman said. "Mrs. Shoal?" "A-hmm?" "My name is Minerva McGonagall, I was sent to look after a young girl by her family. She was lost to them some years ago, they thought she was dead, and only recently found information claiming otherwise." "Aha. And you were wondering if any such girl was living in here?" there was a slightly irritating note of snobbish disinterest in the woman's voice. "Well, I had done some research, and -" Mcgonagall continued, undeterred. "Fine. You can come in, her room's upstairs" She cut off Minerva's words and proceeded to go inside, leaving the door open. 'Not even a decent 'hello' or a 'welcome'' McGonagall thought in distaste. She stepped inside after Mrs. Shoal, closing the door behind her and looked around. She was in a large living room, filled with plush leather sofas and every bit of technological entertainment to be found in the country. It also had quite a few statuettes and pictures detailing erotic figures in a vaguely surrealistic way. If there was one good thing about Mrs. Shoal's attitude it was the fact she completely ignored anything McGonagall did, and left her to her own devices. This act, thought meaning a very low standard of hospitality, meant that she could perform any number of tests on her surrounding, including magical ones. So, looking around to make sure no one was coming her way, Minerva whisked her wand from her arm holster and swished it gently, accompanied by a whispered word. Immediately, a white glow expanded from the wand's tip into the whole room, scanning it everywhere. Every now and then the glow flashed over an object and left it glowing a pale blue. The white faded after a few moments, the blue staying behind much longer. 'That proves it then' McGonagall thought, smiling an inner pleased smile. She went upstairs; hoping the girl herself might be in the house. But the room on that floor, which was obviously a teenager's room - according to the posters of boy bands decorating the walls and the schoolbooks at any rate, was empty.  
  
Minerva searched through the other rooms on the floor, finding them all empty as well, before returning to the entrance floor to see if anyone was there. She found a housemaid in the kitchen, busy with the preparation of lunch. Said maid told her that she had seen the girl leaving a couple of minutes ago, and that she didn't know when she's be back.  
  
Minerva could feel the excited feeling draining away from her rapidly. 'It's all right' she said to herself. 'I'll just have to wait'. But then the maid said, "Oh, and the missus tol' me to show you out, seein' as she needs her beauty sleep, and her hubby's gone to a meeting. I s'pose you know where the door is, then?"  
  
'Outside' she added to herself flatly.  
  
She went out then, but before she left the house, she placed a small device in a pot next to the door. This was an old relic from her time as an operative; one which she still used every now and then on her office at Hogwarts. It made a light go on at the edge of her wand whenever a magical person went by it. It was very useful against prying students.  
  
Feeling that the better part of her work was done, she went to a small newspaper stand and bought a map of the city. She'd been in New York when she was younger, much younger, and she wanted to revisit some of the old sites while she had a chance. There was a small construction site she remembered, down by the water front, nothing was ever built on it, and it was just the perfect hide out when you wanted a bit of freedom form pesky employers. She saw they had built something on it after all these years, something far more pleasant, so she waved down a taxi and soon enough she was on her way, feeling content with a job on the brink of being over.  
  
Ellen noticed at once three things. One was that she was in big trouble, Two was that she didn't want to be in trouble, Three was that people were staring at her funny.  
  
McGonagall also noticed three things. One, she was falling down due to a hit from behind by a very large object ridden by a young girl. Two, said large object was moving more and more slowly by the second. Three, every single hair on the back of her neck rose and they all screamed together at her - 'MAGIC!' With the large object, which was a bicycle Minerva noticed, moving so slowly now, she could easily step out of it's way before it ran over her. As soon as she was up, the whole thing returned to normal speed and the bicycle stopped with an ear-shattering shriek of the wheels on the cement pavement. The girl, who was apparently unaware of what she had just done, swiveled her head around and asked McGonagall in polite tones whether she was hurt. Many people have gathered around them by now, muttering things about the strangeness of what had just occurred, while other people, whom Minerva recognized as Ministry people were trying to weave their way through the crowd, placing memory charms on as many people in as short a time as possible. Acting quickly, she moved closer to the girl and whispered in her ear, "Are you Ellen Shoal?" The girl nodded, a bewildered look on her face. "You must come with me at once. I will not hurt you, but be assured that there are those who will want to, and that coming with me would ensure the chances of that happening to be very slim" The girl nodded again, got off the bike and, wheeling them alongside her, she and McGonagall disappeared amongst the bewildered crowd. They headed towards the main market area, and with a nod of approval from the Professor, Ellen lead them down an abandoned alleyway. When they were alone, and it seemed no one would disturb them Minerva turned to the girl with as sympathetic an expression as she could muster. "Ms. Shoal, there is something very important you need to know about yourself." She paused briefly, took a small breath and said, "You're a witch"  
  
To her amazement, Ellen replied simply, "I know." 


End file.
